Benjamin's Interlude
by MelissaLianne
Summary: It's 2009 and two watchmen find Benjamin Button buried alive. Benjamin relives another life but finds nothing, and no one, is the same. In progress. R&R is loved.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_After seeing the film 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' I felt inspired to write a fanfiction based upon it. Hope you enjoy!_****

Two thousand and nine was _assumed_ to be the international year of Astronomy, reconciliation and natural fibres. . .

Somewhere across the city, in a forgotten basement a clock is ticking backwards—and was the only possession in the room that is suprisingly undamaged from natural causes and erosion.

For Benjamin Button, two thousand and nine was a year to start all over.

- -

In the dim light of the graveyard, a faint sobbing could be heard. Two watchmen lowered their coffee flasks and strained to hear the noise.

"Eh, probably nothin' but our imaginations runnin' riot, y'know what it gets like at nigh' time sometimes, Graham."

Graham doffed his cap and shook his head in disagreement. "We should probably go 'n' investigate anyway. C'mon, Max."

Max, begrudgingly, climbed down from the wall were he had been sitting for the past three hours, and made his way towards were the sound of sobbing was growing more and more profound. "What'cha' reckon it is?" asked Graham nervously.

"Uh, uh, probably a cat or somethin' that's been injured."

"Shush a minute, Max." Graham kneeled down by a grave and pressed his ear to the earth. There was a tapping sound now, accompanied by the sobbing.

"Good lord, someone's alive under there!"

"Well, What'cha waitin for? Get the poor owld bugger out!"

The two men began to dig desperately and after a while they pulled out a small box; an infants. "This grave 'ere says that the fella was...eighty-five," murmured Graham. Max said nothing and lowered the box onto the grass. The sobbing had gone.

"Uh, maybe we were imagining things," faltered Graham. Max opened the box and glanced inside.

Inside was a tiny baby, pale from the lack of oxygen. His features were beautiful, if slightly decomposed.

"Holy..." Max fell backwards on his knees and watched as Graham lifted the infant from the box. "Is it alive?"

The baby suddenly opened its eyes—a sharp blue colouring. It opened its mouth and once more began to cry.

"Where do we take it?" asked Graham.

Max shrugged. "Nearest god damn orphanage, I ain't raisin' a god damn baby."

"Was' the poor buggers name?"

Max examined the headstone. "Benjamin Button," he said quietly.

The baby gurgled quietly, as if he remembered his name. "Quick—who was he buried next to?" urged Graham, wrapping the baby up in his coat.

Max squinted in the darkness. "Some woman called Daisy Fuller. Here, listen to what it says on the inscription—in life we grow or die; the shadow inbetween is not for us to see. Live long and grow your wings—I know you can fly again someday.' What do you suppose _that_ means?"

Graham stood up, holding the weak baby close to his chest. "I'm not sure, but I'm telling you, this baby is gotta be the luckiest thing I've ever seen. Do you reckon someone got rid of the corpse and replaced it with a baby? I've heard about these kinds of things on the news, you know?"

"Hmm. I'm not too sure... let's get going—judging by his face that baby could do with vodka or two."

"_Vodka_? Don't you mean a damn bottle of milk?" The two men began to walk towards Max's old truck.

"Nu-uh. Vodka. Looks like a drinker to me."

"You're a damn weird man at times, Max Gateau -- 'Baby Benjamin looks like a drinker,' you're from another god damn planet. Come on. Let's get going."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Thank you for all of the reviews, alerts and favourites! I'm glad you enjoyed chapter one, and I can only hope you enjoy chapter two as well!_

The two watchmen walked across the leaf-covered pavements in the twilight, armed with a baby whom had escaped the realms of death. The world no longer had surprises for either man.

Benjamin gurgled pleasantly in the wheelbarrow they had placed him inside, were he was wrapped up with warm jackets. For now, he was safe. He gazed at what he could see below the brim of the wheelbarrow, as he was propped up like a toy on a shelf.

The night sky would of been cold had Max not covered Benjamin with his work jacket; but seeing as the chill was no longer a problem, the two men and the baby appreciated how light the sky was and were thankful that it was not raining.

"Eh." Max broke the silence and paused, no longer in step with Graham. Graham turned around and raised an eyebrow, before backtracking so he was next to Max once more. "D' you think this place will, like, take the god damn thing?" Max asked hesitantly.

Graham shrugged. "If they don't, then I ain't havin' nothin' to do with little baby Benji no longer. He's a damn curse."

Max frowned and found himself shaking his head in disagreement. "No," he said after a moment's silence, "He's no damn curse. He's a blessing. A gift, if you will. This child is a gift from the God's."

"Whatever he may be--" Graham ceased in pushing the wheelbarrow to face his friend with a 'don't-say-anythin'-else-or-I'll-bust-your-balls' expression, "He ain't gunna have much a life, 'is he now? Instead 'o bein' born from a lady, he was born six feet under. 'Ow are yer' gunna explain that?"

When Max seemed unable to answer, for he either had no winning reply or he was thinking about the baby's future—or lack of future, in Graham's eyes. The two men began to walk in time with one another again, which Benjamin seemed to appreciate. The lapse in movement had caused little frown marks above his eyes, and he had stuck his bottom lip out in protest. Neither man acknowledged this and instead continued to trudge through a sea of leaves, both lost in their own opinion and thought.

--

As the mountain of leaves got higher and higher, destruction laid her path. Lightning struck and the oldest oak fell to her downfall and lay on the ground. The impact of the crash sent a rebound through the area and a few moments after, the heavens opened and rain pelted down like bullets—uncaring and brutal.

Benjamin, who had watched the tree fall with fascination, began to cry softly, his distress pitying. "Look, we gotta get out of here before we get, uh, smushed like peas!" Max grabbed Benjamin in the borrowed jacket and held him against his chest. "Is there anywhere we can go to stay out the, uh, storm?"

"Eh, what 'bout the cafe over there?" Graham began to walk towards the little cafe which, according to the neon sign outside, claimed to be having a deal on cappuccinos and blueberry muffins.

Max nodded and they both ran as fast as they could over the widespread damage which was growing worse and worse by the minute. After what seemed to be an eternity, they fell through the door and into the cafe, which save an elderly gentleman donning a beret and crumpled newspaper, whom was being served by a cheerful looking waitress, was completely empty.

They put the baby down on the counter and pulled up a few red stools which had seen better days. Benjamin ceased his crying and smiled at the waitress, who despite her positive attitude seemed alarmed when she caught sight of the drenched men and the baby.

"What's wrong with this little fella then, eh? Who said ya'll could go plonkin' a baby down on my counter?" She winked to show that she was joking, and Graham attempted a smile. The waitress whose bright nametag indicated her name was Janice, continued to chirp along to them both. "What are two grown men like you doin' out in weather like that, huh? I'm guessin' you want coffees, right? We got a deal goin' on you know," she smiled warmly and paused only to straighten her uniform, "Two coffee's and two blueberry muffins for the price of one coffee and muffin, now ain't that a good deal? Sit yourselves down and tell me all about why you were out in the storm-- in a moment, 'o course! Oh, my name is Janice by th' way."

She pointed unnecessarily to the sparkly name-tag and then turned her back on the men to start pouring milks into mugs which told Graham and Max to love the holy lord. Janice resumed burbling happily to herself, and Max only paid slight attention to her welcoming and afterword's. He glanced at Benjamin who was alarmingly holding firm eye contact with him. "Benji..." murmured the baby, gurgling to himself, "Benji..."

"Yeah," praised Max, delight lighting up his soft brown eyes, "That's your name, baby."

Janice dropped the two mugs down in front of the men with unprofessional written all over her smiling face—if she had not been friendly and welcoming to the men, Graham felt that they would of told her to 'leave off' in a less than friendly tone.

"So! Ya'll have just got to tell me what you're doin' out there in the storm!" She beamed at them and then eyed one of the muffins. "Ya'll gunna eat that?"

"No, help yourself. And as you can tell," Max managed a smile, "We're not in the storm no longer."

She laughed loudly and took a bite of Max's muffin. "Well, aren't ya'll the serious one? But really, what's this one called?"

"Benjamin... we're... uh..." Max looked awkward, "Minding him for Graham's aunt. Isn't that right Graham?"

"Sure, sure... my aunt is very sick." Graham kicked Max under the table and shot him a warning look.

Janice tutted. "Oh, that's just too sad! Have ya'll got a place to stay, or... no?" She took another bite of the muffin and sprayed Benjamin with crumbs. The baby frowned at her but she chose to ignore and instead took a slurp from Graham's coffee and smiled encouragingly.

"Um... well, we were going to that nursing home which is around half an hour away. Figured we'd better sit out the damn storm first though, we don't wanna turn up without the baby, y'know?" Max glanced at Benjamin, whom, despite being six feet under for god knows how long, had an unfaseable personality—nothing or no one seemed unusual to him. It was like he was used to people—whatever that meant, of course.

"Hmm." Janice studied the barometer and turned back with an almost disappointed expression. "Still stormin' and probably will for a few hours. Listen, ya'll could stay here the night, and ya'll can help yourselves to coffee, muffins, the lot!"

"That's very kind of you," Max murmured.

"Dammit, I was gunna order a god damn taxi." Graham frowned at Max and then at Janice, feeling as if the waitress was trying to convince them to stay for personal reasons—such as prying into their personal lives. The young waitress looked hurt at Graham's frank refusal and shook her head, long black curls falling over her face. "Oh no you didn't," she pointed her yellow-painted nail at him with a cross expression, "Ya'll can't take a taxi out in this weather! Taxi will blow over and then were will ya'll be?"

Benjamin moved quietly towards the edge of the counter and inspected the tile floor with interest—where he saw a photograph, lying directly under Max's stool. He leant down, a hand stretched helplessly towards the object, but he lost sense of gravity and almost slipped.

"Whoa lil fella!" Janice scooped Benjamin up in her arms and tutted at him. "Let's get ya' somethin' down you—how about some milk?"

"How about some Vodka?" joked Max—his expression fell when he saw Janice's disproving expression. "Sorry."

"And so ya'll should be, mister! Now, if alcohol is indeed in young—Benji, right? If alcohol is in Benji's diet then he can have a little brandy. Is that okay, little one?"

Benjamin rolled his head backwards then forwards enthusiastically. Max wondered how he could even move—surely his circulation and lack of oxygen would have ordinarily prescribed instant death...

"What a clever boy ya'll are!" She took him towards the back room of the cafe. "Are you two men gunna follow Benji's idea? There ya'll can tell me all about you. And if," she smiled at Graham, "If the weather dies down, I'll give ya'll a lift."

The old man in the beret glanced up from his newspaper and smiled in a lost manner. "Can you take me back too?"

"'Ow heck, I'm not a human taxi now am I Mr B! But sure, I can give you a lift back to the nursing home too."

Max stopped in his tracks. "Um, sir?" He smiled pityingly at the old man. "Do you want to join us in the back too?"

The man rose to his feet eagerly. "Don't mind if I do!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _Sorry that this took a while to update! Thank you –so- much to everyone who reviewed, favourite, added this story to their alerts. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that people are enjoying this story! I'm pretty sure I thanked everybody for reviewing my last chapter, but if I didn't then I'm sorry! Anyway—I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It kind of ends on a cliff-hanger... hehe!_

The back room of the cafe was furnished according to expense—it seemed that the most expensive items, which were a lava lamp and a cracked, leather sofa, were the only _real_ pieces of comfort in the dimly lit room. A few plastic chairs were stacked under the window and in the corner there were supplies—extra coffee packs and soda cans, stacked unnecessarily high.

Janice and Graham began to unstack the plastic chairs for themselves and Mr B. Max and Benjamin took full leisure of the leather sofa, and though it wasn't as comfy as expected, it was a mile better than plastic seating. Benjamin gurgled appreciatively as he was placed carefully on the couch, but after a few seconds of being ignored, he began to cry.

"Now you wait here little Benji! Don't ya'll start cryin' over my best sofa, you little munchkin! Lemme go and heat you up a bottle 'o somethin' good, yeah?" Janice smoothed down Benjamin's hair which, to Max's surprise, seemed thicker than it had been a few hours ago. Benjamin nodded enthusiastically and his face broke into a wide smile.

"You certainly have a talent with babies, Janice," acknowledged Graham, taking a sip of his coffee.

Janice nodded and offered a smile, placing a bottle of milk in the old microwave. "Well, I can't have Benji ruinin' my best sofa, can I? Milk always sweets a baby up. Just you wait and see."

Mr B positioned himself carefully on the chair, his hat pulled low over his eyes. "So—anybody want to hear a story?"

"Like, a ghost story? Uh uh. Not in front 'o the baby," Max declined this suggestion with a polite smile.

"Well, Max an' I sure as hell have a story to tell," Said Graham, looking at Mr B with a smile, "Damn, if any media got hold of this shit we'd be in the business, you know?"

Mr B paused and pressed his fingertips together, addressing the new information with a contemplative expression. "Hm, what kinda story?"

Janice left the bottle of milk on the coffee table and sat down. Benjamin stretched towards the bottle eagerly, but Janice shook her head at him. "Uh uh, Benji, ya'll burn your mouth! Let it cool a little. But Graham, I'd like to hear your story, and judgin' by Mr B's face, he does too!"

Max lifted Benjamin onto his knee gently and looked at Graham silently. If Graham chose to tell the others about Benjamin's real origin, they might try to claim him, contact the press or even worse, severely hurt him. "Now then, Graham... Uh, don't cha' think that story is a little... _far fetched_?"

"No story is ever farfetched," replied Mr B in a grim tone. He stretched his arms and then shuddered as a coldness flittered through the window, which judging by the interior had been repaired not by professional means, but rather a cheap substitute—probably Janice herself, who chose to glance at the window that moment and cringe.

"Agreed," nodded Graham, ignoring Max's warning look. "Anyway—Max and I were chillin' out in the graveyard, 'cause we're night watchmen, see. Sometimes there are grave robbers or disruptive kids—you know the sort. Uh, we hear this cryin' sound and I'm thinkin', '_This is god damn spooky_,' but Max 'ere was pretty cool wi' it, 'cause he's been in the business longer than me. So, anyways, we gets up to investigate. I'm thinkin' it could be some o' those drunken teenagers, causin' shit. It was only last month we had a memorial grave covered with graffiti. So uh, we walkin' and we here this cryin' sound. We think it could be a cat, or somethin'."

"Wow," said Janice, looking intrigued, "Was it those teenagers?"

"Uh uh, I'm gettin' to tha' now." Graham smiled at her and Mr B, before continuing. "anyways, we think it's from one of the graves, this sound. The cryin' grows fainter so we starts to dig and see if there is anythin' there. We pull out this lil' coffin, despite the fact the gravestone claims when this guy died he was around, eighty-five years. So we pull open the coffin, and—"

"It _was_ a cat," interrupted Max. Graham and Benjamin's expressions registered as blank. "Yeah, uh, we gots a real scare."

"Wooow." Janice looked scared—her image reminded Max of a child hearing a scary story at bedtime. "That's mad! So did ya'll find the body, an' what did ya'll do with the pussy cat?"

Max paused for a moment. "Well uh, when we got the kitty out its lungs had stopped—it was dead. Dunno where the body is, like."

"Strange," mused Mr B, who looked as if he did not believe a word Max had said, "very strange indeed... would it be impolite to tell you all a story of my own? It's real."

Benjamin sat up straight on the couch, his little hands balled into fists. Max absently smoothed the baby's curls and nodded at Mr B.

"During November, 1918—the time when people of New Orleans were celebrating the end of world war one, there's a baby born. 'Nothing unusual,' I see you are thinking. Well, there was. This baby boy was born with physical and health problems—like that of an old man. The mama dies after givin' birth, and the daddy flees, not wantin' any abnormality for a child. This child was left on the porch 'o a nursing home. The woman who finds the baby names him... Benjamin." At this point, Mr B looked at the Benjamin on Max's knee.

"Ooh," breathed Janice, "now that's coincidental!"

Graham looked intrigued—but Max was frowning. With a light smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Mr B continued in a philosophical tone. "Throughout his life, Benjamin grows... younger. So at the age of eight, he can walk an' talk as eloquently as any kid can in school—'cept he still looks like an old man. He continues to grow younger and he soon begins to look like a young man. And then a teenager—and before you know it—a bratty kid. Within the blink of an eye, he's a baby again. He dies—at the age of eighty five."

Max closed his eyes—even to him the story seemed to mesh in well with Benjamin's. Janice didn't comment on Mr B's story immediately; she gently lifted Benjamin from Max's knee and began to bottle feed him. "_Tha... tha...nk...s. Thaa...nks_."

"Ooh," Janice said again, "Did that lil' baby just say thanks to me?"

"No," denied Max, "I was scrapin' my chair on your floor. Sorry."

The young waitress gave him a disapproving look and then addressed Mr B with a bright smile. "That story was amazing! And ya'll see it's real? Whoa! So what do you think happened to Benjamin, Mr?"

"I think..." Mr B glanced at Benjamin who was staring back at the man with mature eyes, "He's sittin' right there."


End file.
